


A Lonely Lifetime

by Dawnwind



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 16:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13838730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: A naked corpse missing its hands gets in the way of Hathaway’s rehearsal time for a local Beatles tribute concert. And then there’s Lewis.





	A Lonely Lifetime

A Lonely Lifetime  
By Dawnwind

_Who knows how long I've loved you  
You know I love you still  
Will I wait a lonely lifetime  
If you want me to-- I will._

_Love you forever and forever  
Love you with all my heart  
Love you whenever we're together  
Love you when we're apart._

Lennon/McCartney

 

Procrastination, thy name is James. He shook his head, pouring more wine into a glass, all the while avoiding the guitar sat on a kitchen chair. He hadn’t practised for the Ode to the Beatles Charity thing he was part of, and the concert was tomorrow. Honestly, if he listened to his heart, and not his head which could come up with any number of other chores to do, it had to do with the song.

It ploughed up too many emotions he’d rather leave fallow. The organizing committee had doled out the songs by a sort of lottery so that no-one played the same song as another artist. Given his choice, James would have gone with a less romantic number such as _Benefit for Mr Kite_ or _Octopus’ Garden_ , something to get the audience singing along, not crying into their beers.

He’d eaten his takeaway vindaloo, drank enough wine to feel relaxed, and even done the washing up. Unless the phone rang, calling him out on a case, there was nothing else to do but rehearse the bloody song.

Glancing wistfully at his mobile, James picked up the guitar, dutifully tuning the strings. All in order. Now was the time for the blasted thing to chime—his superior on the other end describing a dead body.

_Odd what the heart wanted._

He froze, fingers still in contact with the strings, stunned at his own thoughts. Where had that come from? He was rarely so gruesome. The last thing he’d wish for was some poor bloke’s murder.

At least the tune was an easy one. He didn’t need to read the sheet music. He probably had every Beatles song in his head, stored next to all those other extraneous facts he could recall so facilely.

 _“Who knows how long I’ve loved you…”_ he sang softly. Really, this performance was meant to be extemporaneous. He didn’t want to sound rehearsed, as if he’d sung the song one too many times. Didn’t want to keep thinking about Robbie Lewis every few seconds as if he couldn’t spend a single night on his own without—

James stopped strumming, listening hard. Either he hadn’t tuned as well as he’d thought, or the mobile had chimed.

Yes, the sound reserved for Lewis’ calls, a cascade of notes, a descending arpeggio, trilled again. Practically dropping his beloved guitar in his haste, James snatched up the mobile. “Yes, sir!” he answered.

“James,” Lewis said. 

Was James imagining a fondness in that familiar tone, or simply satisfaction that his bagman was available at a moment’s notice? 

“A body’s been found on the banks of the river,” Lewis explained quickly, giving the location. 

“Shall I fetch you?” James asked, too eagerly, in his own opinion. He placed the guitar back in its chair without a single regret.

“No. See you at the scene.” Lewis rang off.

“I will,” he replied, all too late hearing the echo of the song. _If you want me to, I will. Who knows how much I’ve loved you…_

What was this song doing to him?

~~**~~

With that ear worm firmly entrenched in his head, James flipped on the car radio as he turned the key. Distract himself from the lyrics, that was the plan. Once he got to the river, he’d have a million different things on his mind, he just had to make it there without another repetition of _I Will_ drilling holes in his brain. 

Taking the turning onto the main road, James cringed when the DJ announced the golden oldie of the day. A resounding crescendo of guitar and drums launched into: _It was twenty years ago today._

Damn. Twenty years ago. He would have been barely out of primary school; Lewis already married, with kids. And why should that pop into his head? At least it had chased away _If you want me to…_

He flicked off _Sargent Pepper_ in mid-verse, something he would have considered sacrilege on any other day.

Once he had parked on the roadside, there was no need to wander around looking for the crime scene as sometimes happened. Bright arc lights lit the night sky, directing police—and curious Oxford citizens—to the spot. James saw Lewis bending down to inspect something out of view, and hurried over.

The body was lying on the grassy slope, bare feet still dangling in the water, a tarpaulin covering the rest of the torso and face. An anxious looking student with long black hair and limpid dark eyes stood nearby talking to a uniformed constable. The young woman wrung her hands as she talked, which made the tiny bells on her beaded bracelets jingle constantly. 

Immediately, James wanted to walk up and tuck her hands into the pockets of her anorak to silence the noise. 

“Sir,” he said softly on approach.

“Missing his hands. Otherwise, hard to tell what killed him,” Lewis said, standing up with a slight grimace. He rubbed at his right leg absently.

“Isn’t that my job?” Dr Hobson came up behind them, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

“We bow to your expertise,” James conceded with a slight smile. He felt more content by the moment. No Beatles songs in his head, no treacherous lyrics to confound his reason.

“As well you should.” Laura flipped back the tarpaulin, her eyebrows raising.

The corpse was that of an older man, possibly in his late seventies, with sparse white hair on the top of his mostly bald pate. He looked calm, almost angelic, as if he’d lay down on the side of the water to take a nap. Other than that, he was completely nude.

“Do you have a preliminary cause of death?” Lewis asked hopefully.

“Robbie, you really can be a prat.” Laura snorted. “Or you believe that I have amazing abilities beyond that of most medical examiners.”

Lewis lifted an eyebrow as if he’d been teasing her all along and not looking for evidence. 

“However, I can say definitively that this man has been embalmed,” Laura said. She pointed to a small wound in the jugular. “That’s where the blood was drained out and chemicals pumped in.”

“So, possibly a robbery and not murder?” Lewis crossed his arms, taking two steps to the left to look at the body from another angle. 

“In fact, two robberies,” James pointed out. “The corpse was presumably stolen from an undertaker, and then the hands were hacked off.”

“Yes, the hand-ectomy was definitely done post-embalming,” Laura confirmed, touching the neatly severed wrists with her gloved fingers. “No blood loss.”

“What reasons would there be to remove the hands?” Lewis pondered out loud. “To conceal his identity?”

James smiled inwardly. This was his happy place, with his two favourite colleagues, discussing motive. “So he can’t finger his assailant?” he tossed out, knowing it would be roundly reproved.

“James, that was low, even for you.” Laura covered the body once again, beckoning the two attendants waiting to truck him to the ambulance. “Or should I say, especially for you?”

“She’s the one found him, while on a stroll to the pub.” Lewis indicated the distressed young woman standing to the left as if to get as far from the body as possible. “I’ll speak to her if you’ll…”

“I’ll start calling mortuaries,” James said promptly. “Most will be open this late for evening viewings. Should be relatively easy to ascertain who’s lost a body.”

~~**~~

Easy didn’t even begin to describe it. By the time Hathaway and Lewis arrived at the station house, a tall austere man with oiled black hair combed straight back from his forehead was waiting. 

James had always considered the man the picture of a classic vampire. Chester Farnsworth was the general manager of Potter and Son Mortuary. He’d interviewed Farnsworth a year or so ago when one of his employees was killed and buried in the casket meant for another man.

The harried constable at the front desk seemed immensely happy to have him off her hands. “Mr Farnsworth, this is D I—“

“Lewis, Hathaway!” Farnsworth proclaimed. He had a weird voice, very quiet, yet grating.

James suppressed a shudder. It was going to be a long night. Yet, better than sitting alone, drinking wine, and strumming the guitar. 

“You’ve misplaced a body?” Lewis asked brightly as if he’d divined the truth out of the air.

“How did you know?” Farnsworth straightened, towering over both Lewis and Hathaway. 

“We found one,” James said succinctly. “Would you come with us to make a positive ID?”

“I…” Farnsworth appeared torn as if that were the last thing on his agenda, despite having shown up at the police station precisely for that reason. “Perhaps I should summon his relatives?”

“You’ve seen him before, haven’t you?” Lewis asked, irritated. “Exactly who are you looking for?”

“Edward McVicker,” Farnsworth replied even more quietly than usual.

“ _The_ Edward McVicker of International World Bank?” James asked, momentarily stunned. Not that he would have recognized the man, dead or alive, but he was certainly aware of the man’s prestige—and wealth. His name was amongst the likes of Bill Gates and Warren Buffett on the annual richest people lists.

“The McVicker family are respected clients,” Farnsworth added, following Hathaway and Lewis down the corridor towards Dr Hobson’s lair. “After the patriarch died, he was brought to us on Monday. We had him prepared today, and they gathered for the viewing late this afternoon.”

“What was cause of death? Was he ill?” Lewis paused before going into the morgue.

“Old age, nothing unexpected. He was in his early 80s with advanced prostate cancer and congestive heart failure.” Farnsworth sighed, shaking his head. “He will be missed. His family is always so generous after a burial.”

Stymied as to what to say to that, James shoved open the door. Dr Hobson was already kitted up in latex gloves and an overall. 

“I hadn’t expected you so soon.” She nodded to their companion. “Mr Farnsworth, haven’t seen you since—“

“Please refrain from mentioning that unfortunate chapter in the saga of Potter and Son.” He held up both hands to ward off any hint of impropriety, walking over to the covered body. “Is this he?”

“You tell us,” Lewis murmured as Laura lifted the sheet up enough to reveal the face and one of the arms severed at the wrist.

“Good God!” he cried, backing away with revulsion. “Who stole his hands?”

~~**~~

Driving out to McVicker’s family estate, Langly Hall, James passed the turning for Creve Coeur. It never failed to give him twin sensations of nostalgia and anguish. He’d put so much of his childhood on the estate behind him once his father transferred to another manor house in the early 1990s, but the recent murders there had brought them flooding back, both the good and the bad. 

Those recollections were now interspersed with times spent with Lewis. He’d been afraid that the traumatic memories would taint his feelings for his superior, but the reverse had occurred. He cherished being with Lewis all the more for knowing what a good man he was. James glanced over at Lewis, treasuring this quiet interlude in the evening. Before his aborted guitar practice, he’d spent most of the day in court testifying on a deadly boring case from several years back whilst Lewis had toiled over mandatory on-line lessons required for his annual review. They’d barely said hello since beer at the pub on Tuesday night.

_Love you when we're apart._

He clenched his fingers hard around the steering wheel, almost sending the big car into the other lane. Luckily there were no oncoming vehicles. That bloody song would be the death of him.

“Penny, James?” Lewis asked as if they hadn’t almost run off the road. 

“Thinking about—“ He was startled to see a huge wooden notice mounted above the turnoff for Buscot Park, advertising the upcoming Ode to the Beatles concert. “That.” He nodded at the psychedelic pink and green letters as they whizzed past. “Was invited to play a song. For charity, you know. Raising money for kids with cancer in hospital.”

“I’d planned to attend.” Lewis nodded. “Always been a fan.”

“Did you ever see them live?”

Lewis chuckled, whapping James softly on the upper arm. “How old d’you think I am, lad?”

He knew precisely how old Robbie Lewis was, although the age difference had never bothered him before. Now it seemed insurmountable. “Old enough to know better?” he quipped.

“I would have been ten when they played in Hamburg, and in my teens when The Beatles were the most famous band on earth,” Lewis continued. “But seeing them live was far more than I could ever hope for.”

“Bought all the vinyl you could, I’d expect.” James smiled to himself, imagining young Robbie hanging out with friends, listening to their idols.

“Records, lad, not vinyl.” Lewis chuckled. “One of my favourites wasn’t played regularly on the radio, so I had to buy the album.” He hummed a startling familiar tune. _“If I lived a lonely lifetime…”_

James inhaled so sharply his chest hurt, and saw the entrance to Langly Hall in the headlights. “We’re here,” he said a trifle too loudly.

~~**~~

A tiny Asian maid opened the ornate front door. She stared at their warrant cards for so long James wondered if she didn’t read—or understand—English. “Come in, wait here, I announce,” she said as if by rote before scurrying off on soft shoes.

The place was immense, and well kept, unlike some of the huge houses built two hundred years earlier. The wide entrance hall, floored in marble, had white columns flanking a staircase that curved to the left to the upper floors. One main corridor swept past the stairs to the right, although not lit well enough for James to make out where it led. There was a door set into the wall directly below the stairs reminding him of hidey-holes he’d used at Creve Coeur when playing hide and go seek. 

“I Googled the McVicker family whilst you were talking to Innocent,” James said to block out those memories, as well as the plaintive Lennon/McCartney tune playing in his head. “Two sons, Landon and Hayden, as well as a daughter—the eldest, Kendall. All will probably have a share in the inheritance.”

“According to the list of mourners Farnsworth had faxed over from Potter and Son, all three went to the viewing.” Lewis produced the sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket. “It was a private affair, only for family. I expect they were trying to avoid unwanted publicity.”

James glanced over the names. Nearly half were McVickers, including a Georgiana—the old man’s wife, according to Google—as well as Charles, Manfred and Godfrey McVicker. Possibly brothers? “Had to be one of them on the list then,” he surmised. “As Farnsworth vouches for his staff.”

The Asian maid beckoned from the dim recesses of the main corridor. “Mrs Latimore will see you now.”

“His daughter is married to the CEO of the company,” James whispered as they fell in step together. “She’s VP, and on the board.”

Lewis nodded sagely, his hand brushing against Hathaway’s. Could not have been an accident. Or could it?

Kendall McVicker Latimore was as tall as Lewis, as blond as James himself, and slim enough to fit through that Biblical eye of a needle. From the waft of predatory, grasping nature James got off her handshake, he doubted she’d manage. 

“My mother is resting. This has been a trying week for her,” she explained, eyeing them with stiff-necked loathing. “What brings the police out at this hour?”

“Were you aware your father’s body went missing from Potter and Son shortly after the viewing?” Lewis said as opening gambit.

“They should have informed the family immediately!” Kendall tightened her jaw, pacing over to the drinks cart. “I’ll sue, that’s for certain. Incompetent—“

“We believe a member of your family took the body and removed the hands at the wrist.” James pulled up the photo he’d taken on his mobile and shoved it in her face.

She didn’t recoil as most would have. Placing her well-manicured fingers around the cut glass decanter marked ‘Gin’, she poured a stiff one and took a sip. “I didn’t give you permission to take my father’s photo,” she commented, her voice so frosty James expected the window glass in the room to ice up.

“Who would benefit from taking your father’s hands?” Lewis asked casually.

“There were only McVickers and close relatives at the viewing, and the body disappeared afterward,” James added, glancing at his superior. As often happened, Lewis caught his eye, sending warmth the length of James’ body. An echo of the tune followed: _Love you whenever we're together._

Damn. Was it too late to request a different song for the concert?

“A member of my family?” Kendall sneered through gritted teeth. “Who is in charge of this investigation? I want to speak to your superior!”

“As I informed you when we arrived, I am Detective Inspector Lewis, overseeing this investigation,” Lewis explained, the steel coming out in his tone. “However, if you’d care to accompany us to headquarters, you are welcome to speak to Chief Superintendent Innocent.”

“I will schedule an appointment once my father’s body is found.”

“Oh, we have it.” James heard noise coming from the corridor and walked over to the closed connecting door. “In our morgue.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” she stormed.

The door burst open revealing a young man with the stereotypical visage of a British upper-class twit: fair hair, pale skin, beaky nose, and receding chin. All he needed was a handkerchief knotted at the four corners to resemble the Monty Python character. “Kenny, the hands won’t…”

“Lan!” Kendall hissed, slamming down her glass.

He swung his head to the left, seeing Hathaway for the first time and registering Lewis behind Kendall. “Oh, s-sorry,” he stammered, “didn’t realise you were occupied.”

“Landon McVicker,” James said with a satisfied grin. Not often a case wrapped up quite this quickly or easily. “Are you in possession of your father’s severed hands?”

“Obviously not!” he obfuscated, holding up his own.

Lewis walked over to flank James, “Mr McVicker, I am placing you under arrest.”

Taking that as his cue, James dashed out of the receiving room toward the staircase. This house was about the same size as Creve Coeur. Far too many rooms to search on his own. What would the brothers be using the hands for? 

Fingerprints? He paused on the stairs, looking upward. Some safes required fingerprints instead of numerical combinations. Could McVicker Senior have outwitted his sons by not giving them access to his safe?

“Policeman.” The maid hurried over. “You must not go up.”

“Where did Mr McVicker keep a safe?” James asked, feeling the need for speed. If Hayden and Landon couldn’t use the hands as they’d hoped, what would they do with them? There were probably dozens of egresses in the huge manor—as he knew from his childhood when he’d crept away from many an uncomfortable situation.

“His safe? You cannot open,” she stated firmly.

“But where is it?” Didn’t matter that he had no search warrant now, he had probable cause to search the house.

She pointed up and to the left. “In the west hall, his office.” She covered her mouth, clearly upset.

James vaulted the stairs, taking them two at a time. There was no-one visible on the next level, and he raced down the passageway, heart thumping with adrenalin. Should they have called for backup before entering the house? He and Lewis hadn’t expected to actually find the culprits at home, palming the evidence, as it were.

Large oak doors lined the corridor on both sides. Which was the office? The thought of checking every one was daunting, and this was only one floor of one wing of the enormous house.

The first door yielded a bathroom. Good to know but not what he needed. The second and third appeared to be meeting or dining rooms, with large tables surrounded by chairs. 

He got lucky on the fourth try. Turning the knob as quietly as possible, James eased the door open, peeking around the edge. The room was beautifully appointed, the enclave of the ultra-wealthy: mammoth mahogany desk, leather library chairs, and a huge painting of a turquoise swimming pool by Hockney.

Hayden McVicker, a virtual twin to his older brother, was carefully pressing the forefinger of his father’s severed hand into a pressure plate on a wall mounted safe.

“Bugger!” he said out loud, unaware of James’ scrutiny.

“Hayden McVicker, you are under arrest,” James announced.

~~**~~

Of course, getting more coppers out to Langly Hall, not to mention SOCO, took hours. It was well after midnight before James drove back to Oxford with Lewis. He would have preferred to curl up on the upholstery and had a kip.

“We’ll start on the paperwork in the morning,” Lewis said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “That was good thinking, canny lad, searching for the safe.”

“Couldn’t figure what else they might need hands for.” James accepted the compliment like a warm blanket around his shoulders. With only one street left before Lewis’ place, he wanted to say something before he lost his nerve. “Sir—“ He paused so long Lewis chuckled.

“You usually quote some esoteric sage at this point.” Lewis smiled, the whites of his teeth gleaming in the passing streetlights.

Unusually flustered, James blurted out, “I’ll be playing that song you like, at the concert.”

 _“I Will?”_ Lewis turned towards him just as James braked at the traffic signal and glanced his way. 

“Yes. I wasn’t at all aware you…” James focused back on the light as it turned green. Felt like he couldn’t quite breathe deeply. “All the musicians and singers were assigned various Beatles songs. It’s a coincidence.”

“Quite a nice one. All the more reason to attend.” Lewis nodded with satisfaction. “I haven’t heard you play.”

There was good reason for that. James didn’t suffer from stage fright or any of that sort of nervousness when performing, but the idea of Robert Lewis coming to one of his usual world music performances had always seemed comical. Not his sort of thing. Even the occasions when James had filled in at folk masses in local churches hadn’t been something he’d bragged about to his superior. 

“I hope I do the song justice,” he said vaguely. 

“I have no doubt.” Lewis touched his arm when James stopped in front of his building. “Will there be a drinks tent at the venue?”

“Of course.” Which he planned to partake of both before and after his piece. “I go on just before the interval.”

“Right. Meet me for a beer after the song,” Lewis said, climbing out of the car. “On me. So I can congratulate you.”

“I will.” James belatedly realised what he’d said and barked a laugh. Had Robbie somehow manoeuvered him into a date?

~~**~~

As he sang, the audience spread across the Buscot Park grassy amphitheatre faded away, until the only face James could see was Robbie’s. Felt as if he were singing straight to the older man. Opening his heart and his soul to an audience of one. Not rehearsing ahead of time had been the right way to go.

Lewis was singing along. James couldn’t hear him, not from half a football pitch away, but his lips were moving to the words. 

_“Love you forever and forever, love you with all my heart…”_

There was no doubt. No doubt at all. James had hidden the truth from himself, preferring to pretend there was nothing to the love that buoyed him up whenever they were together. That their ability to almost read one another’s minds, finish each others’ sentences, and share private smiles was simply friendship.

_Will I wait a lonely lifetime, If you want me to-- I will._

Applause was thundering in his ears when he strummed the last note and took a bow, practically running off the stage. Shoving the guitar into its case, he ducked around the drum kit a Scottish band was lugging on stage, and slung the strap of guitar case across his chest as he walked. Everyone and his brother would be headed for the drinks tent. James wanted to get there as quickly as possible, find a corner to wait for Lewis and—

What? Could he actually speak his heart as eloquently as the song did? His opinion of Paul and John’s ditty had changed overnight. They’d penned the precise words to explain the awkward situation, the frightening reality.

Had Lewis felt the same way all along and not known what to say either? If the age difference and divide betwixt their ranks had stymied James, surely Lewis shared the same qualms.

As often happened, had they come to the same conclusions from different directions?

Hundreds of people were on their feet, looking for drinks or snacks. Long queues snaked toward booths selling pork pies, chips, and ice cream. James grunted in frustration at the number of people waiting to get into the tent sponsored by Newcastle. He’d never find Lewis in this crush. 

“James.” 

Suddenly Lewis was at his elbow, holding two paper cups brimming with beer.

“Sir!” James nearly knocked over one of the cups in his haste to take it from Lewis. He shifted a shoulder to settle the guitar more comfortably against his back and gulp a satisfying swallow. A tasty bitter. “How’d you get through the queue so quickly?”

“Put in my order before the show began,” Lewis said, his eyes merry as he took a hearty drink. “So it’d be waiting at the interval.”

“Cunning.”

“Round the back, this way.” Lewis led him past the white tent and along the car park to a path with large, old trees bracketing both sides. In a matter of minutes, the sounds of the music festival were muted, and they were virtually alone except for the owls.

“How’d you know about this?” James asked in awe. It was a beautiful spot, and dare he even think it, romantic?

“Worked a case here, long time ago.” Lewis glanced around, although with sunset an hour past and the nearly full moon hanging low in the sky, there wasn’t much to see except shadows of shrubs and trees in all directions. “With Morse. A body found just there.” He used the hand holding his beer to indicate the location, and then reeled it in to take another sip. “A housemaid got herself pregnant by the butler.”

“The butler did it?” James almost laughed, it was too cliché. He inhaled, catching sight of Robbie Lewis in the silvery light of the moon flickering through the leaves. Not a classically handsome face, but one he treasured more than he’d ever let himself admit. A well-lived face, with smile lines, and gray strands of hair hanging over his forehead. A leaf had fallen onto his head, tucked almost behind his ear.

“You’ve got—“ James stepped closer to brush the leaf away.

Lewis raised his face, slipping a hand around Hathaway’s waist and under the guitar case. “What’s more comical,” Lewis’ voice was soft, sensual. “The servant’s surname was White and her murderer, Green.”

Feeling trapped with one hand in Lewis’ hair and the other still clutching the beer, James didn’t dare step away. Didn’t want to. He’d never allowed himself to give in to the other man’s allure before. “Cluedo. Did the butler do it in the—well not one of the rooms of the house, eh? In the garden—“

“In the kitchen with a candlestick, of all things.” Lewis brought his hand up from James’ waist to his chest, flattening his palm against the lavender shirt James wore. “Bloody great mess it made, so Green cleaned it up and toted her body outside to hide it in the grounds.”  
,  
“You’re pulling my leg,” James said stubbornly, acutely aware of how close Robbie was. The tingling in his groin proved that his body had a much clearer agenda than his head.

“Not a bit of it.” Robbie moved his fingers up higher, almost pressing them to James’ throbbing artery. “You can read the case file.”

“Sir?” James hated how reedy thin his voice sounded. “Are you…seducing me?”

“You think I’d walk you way out to a remote spot in Buscot Park to point out a decades old murder for the historical value?” Lewis chuckled.

“I’ve never known you to be quite so devious.”

“I have my ways.” Lewis fluttered his fingers over James’ sideburns to circle his ear. “Was bloody tired of waiting. Had thought that someone with your…youth and exuberance would make the first move.”

“I—“ James combed his fingers through Robbie’s hair, dislodging the leaf, and then cupped the back of his head. So easy to bend his neck and press a kiss to that temping mouth. Would that be the worst kind of insubordination between a D S and a D I? But Robbie clearly wanted that kiss. “Was afraid of the repercussions.”

“That I’d refuse you?” Robbie asked almost too softly to be heard. “Not likely.” He finally ran the tip of his thumb across James’ bottom lip.

So similar to a kiss that James’ balls drew up in his trousers. 

“Would you kiss me?” Robbie asked, overly formal when they were pressed together like lovers in a bower with owls hooting overhead. 

“I will,” James agreed, and did so. Felt like he was meeting his best friend all over again.  
A phrase from the song swirled through his head. When they both came up briefly for air, he sang to his lover, _“Will I wait a lonely lifetime, If you want me to-- I will.”_

Fin


End file.
